Chess, Ethics, and Mental Health
by Sanrodri
Summary: Harry needs to go to Therapy, but he isn't aware of his Therapist's true identity. (For the complete summary, please see the top of Chapter 1.)
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:** _Harry sleeps 18 hours a day, rarely leaves his room, and has no interest in doing anything. When Hermione has him see Dr. Miller, a wizard and therapist who has firsthand experience with both the war and depression, Harry finally begins to believe that he can feel better. But Dr. Miller's real identity is a mystery to Harry and when it is at last shown to him, the revelation changes everything.

Draco Malfoy suffered from depression and PTSD after the war, which led him to pursue a career in Clinical Psychology so that he may some day help others like himself. He is now a practicing therapist who treats his patients with a glamour on so as keep his identity a secret. When he first meets with Harry Potter, he thinks that he can maintain an objective and professional point of view, but he soon realizes his mistake and vows to show Potter his true face, regardless of the consequences.

_** Notes:** _Thanks to ShortesttDani and ToneeLabradeen

* * *

There were only so many mornings that Harry Potter could stand to wake up to before he eventually gave up on work and friends and decided to wake in the afternoons. The change didn't make him happier, but at least it made his misery a little more bearable. He woke up at whatever time he fancied, ate whenever he pleased, and watched the telly until the early hours of the morning before asleep again. He rarely left his bed, much mess less his room. In fact, if it weren't for a meddling, bushy-haired friend, he might have lived that way until he wasted away.

An abrasive knock sounded at the front door, causing Harry to groan and turn up the volume on the telly. The doorbell rang soon after, and Harry simply raised the volume even higher, which turned out to be a mistake, because less than a minute later, Hermione Granger was pushing open his bedroom door.

"Now before you say anything, I used the spare key you gave me and let myself in. I knocked and rang first, so don't go saying that I'm invading your privacy. Harry, for Merlin's sake… For all I knew you were dead. We haven't heard from you in weeks! Have you been in here the whole time?" Hermione's concern and disappointment were both clear in her voice.

Harry simply raised the volume higher, making Hermione huff. She tore the remote from his hand, turned off the TV, and faced him with pursed lips and crossed arms. He rolled over. He didn't have the energy to deal with everyday life anymore, much less all that was Hermione Granger.

"Harry, enough is enough! I don't know what you're feeling or what's going through your head because you won't talk to anyone!" Harry refused to respond. Instead he pulled the covers over his head. It was a childish move, but maybe then Hermione would get the message that he wanted to be left alone.

"Fine. I'm leaving a business card on top of the remote by the television set so that you have to at least touch it. I already made an appointment for you. It's for today at 7pm. That's in three hours. You don't need to shower; you don't even need to get dressed. You just need to use the floo. I'm leaving some floo powder by the fireplace. This man is smart, Harry. He's smart and he's discrete. Go see him."

The door to his bedroom closed, and a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed again.

Harry didn't move from under the covers. He didn't want to go anywhere or do anything. He'd only been awake for an hour, but maybe he'd take another nap…. He closed his eyes and relaxed into his mattress, sinking into the warmth.

* * *

Harsh light and cold air woke him. There were people talking angrily around him and one was pulling on his arm. Harry didn't understand what was happening.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER. GET UP THIS INSTANT."

"'Mione, leave him alone! He'll go when he's ready."

"Shut it, Ron! He's going to go whether he likes it or not. "

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose…?"

As Harry's eyes adjusted and he put on his glasses, he saw a frazzled Hermione pulling on him stubbornly.

"The appointment is in 15 minutes, and you still need to fill out the paperwork!" He sat up finally, groaning all the way as he slowly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Why was she doing this? "I swear on Merlin's grave, Potter! If you don't get up this instance I will resort to violence!"

Harry reluctantly got out of bed and let Hermione lead him to the floo. Years of friendship had taught him when there was no longer any point in resisting. She led him into the living room and got into the fireplace with him.

"Dr. Miller's office!"

They stepped out into a quiet sitting room that was filled with plush armchairs, velvet sofas, and soothing music. It seemed to be tailored to have a calming effect on its visitors, but it only made Harry feel bored. He sat in the armchair closest to the fireplace, a crimson chair with silver detailing, and flopped back, not caring about where he was or who Hermione wanted him to see.

"Harry, I need you to fill out this questionnaire. I will fill out the rest of the paperwork. You only need to answer this one, ok? It will hardly take any time at all."

She gave him a clipboard and a pen, but his eyes could only barely make out the words. When was the last time he'd had to read?

Ron sat on the floor next to him and motioned for Harry to hand him the clipboard. The brunette happily obliged.

"Alright," said Ron. "On a scale of one to five, have you experienced any disturbances in your regular sleeping patterns such as sleeping too much or too little?"

"Five," Harry mumbled.

Together, they quickly went through the entire questionnaire until there was nothing left to do but wait. At 7pm on the dot, a bespectacled man came into the room and asked for Harry to follow him. He said hello, shook Harry's hand, and led him away from Hermione and Ron. It was at this point that Harry started to feel anxious. He gripped the wand in his pajamas and took it out, needing the feeling of the wood in his hand to steady his nerves. To his surprise, the man made no move to stop him. He only continued walking until they reached an oak door that led to what appeared to be another sitting area; though this one seemed to be in a small office. It had two armchairs, and a small table in between them had a box of tissues on it. Paintings hung on the walls, and the floor was made of smooth marble. It seemed pretentious to Harry, but the man he was with seemed safe enough, and he knew Hermione might murder him if he left, so….

Harry sat down and the man sat across from him.

"Hello, Harry. Do you know where you are and why you are here?"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm guessing therapy."

"That's correct. I prefer my patients to come in of their own volition, but your friends made a very good case, so I decided to allow them to bring you in if, and only if, you refused to come on your own. This will be the last time I allow anyone to take away your freedom, I promise."

The man in front of Harry seemed very intelligent, but also very humble and welcoming. This annoyed Harry. The man had light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and average features. There was a shimmer about him that told Harry that the man had a glamour in place.

"I see that you have noticed my face. I am using a glamour, but I have not made it perfect, so as to remind my clients that the face they see is not who I truly am. I do not wish to deceive anyone in any way. However, due to my own personal life and the high profile of most of my clients, I find it beneficial to wear this. All of my clients have the option to wear a glamour as well, so as to not be recognized in the waiting room, but you are not required to do so."

Harry shrugged.

"There was nobody in your waiting room."

The man gave Harry a soft, reassuring smile.

"That is because my practice closes at 5pm. Again, I was swayed by the case your friends made, so I am allowing you certain liberties that I do not allow others. Now then. My name is Dr. Miller. I earned my degree in Psychology at a muggle University, and-"

"I'm sorry, doctor, you seem fine, but I don't like therapy. Just let me sit here until the time's up, and then I can go back home."

"I see. While I do not want to force you to do anything, I would very much like to help you. So what if we make a deal?"

Harry glared at Dr. Miller. Did he think he was child? He didn't need to make a deal. He was an adult, and if it weren't for the fact that it would hurt Hermione and Ron even more, he'd leave in an instant.

"No deal."

Dr. Miller frowned, and Harry felt a sweet satisfaction that he hadn't felt in a while. He might not be able to leave, but at least Dr. Miller wouldn't be happy, either. At least he wasn't looking at him in a calm, _happy_ manner.

"Let's play chess."

"What?" Well that was random.

"Let's play chess." The blue-eyed man waved his wand, and a chess board appeared on the small table between them. "We might as well do something to pass the time. Have you played before?"

Harry scoffed and made the first move.

They played in silence for a few minutes and then…

"My apologies, Harry. Checkmate." He didn't sound the least bit sorry.

Harry looked at the board, sure that the doctor had made a mistake but, no, he really had lost. Nobody could beat him that quickly. Except, of course-

"Ron is the only person who has ever beaten me that quickly."

"He sounds like a formidable player. Do you two play often?"

"No. We haven't played since…" Harry went silent. When _was_ the last time he had played with Ron? Blimey….when was the last time he had _spoken _to Ron other than earlier that very day? He looked at Dr. Miller, who was patiently putting the pieces back to their initial squares. "Well, I can't actually remember. Probably not since we first became Aurors."

"That's a shame. Chess is a lovely game that both excites and challenges the mind. Perhaps you two can play soon."

"Yeah. Maybe." He didn't actually think he would though. Setting up a day, time…getting showered and dressed and them having to make conversation just to play a game. No. It was too exhausting to even think about.

"Shall we play again?"

Harry sighed, but this time, put more effort into playing. This time, the game lasted 15 minutes before Dr. Miller took Harry's king.

"Bloody hell… Ron really would love playing against you."

"Perhaps. But it would be more interesting if you played with him and had him teach you a few things. Then maybe you could go more than 15 minutes without losing." The man's eyes shined playfully.

Harry was shocked. Had the _therapist_ just made a joke? He looked at the man, who was smirking, and helped him reset the pieces back on the board. Harry looked at the clock. Only 25 minutes had passed.

"Again?" Harry was tired. He both wanted to play and didn't want to play. "If not, we can perhaps do something else?"

"I'm tired. I'm sorry. I'm really tired. I just want to go to sleep."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you not sleep well last night?"

Harry gave a dry laugh.

"I've slept a good 18 hours out of the past 24."

"I see. So then, you can't have any rational reason to be tired, yet you feel exhausted."

"Yes. I don't know what it is. It's like…Like all the sleepless nights I had in the past have all come together, and now I need to make up for them. It's stupid."

"You don't like sleeping 18 hours a day?"

The question surprised Harry. It was something that he had never even considered. _Did _he like sleeping that much every day?

"No. Somehow, that makes me tired, too." Everything made him tired.

"You know, if you would like, I can help you to not feel so tired all the time. I'm not a miracle worker, but I can definitely help."

Oh. He had been working up to this the whole time. He was manipulating him.

"You've been manipulating me this entire time."

"I've been steering you, yes. I wouldn't use the word 'manipulate'. It has a negative connotation."

"So that's your job, then? Manipulating people into thinking they feel better?" Harry was livid. He stood up, ready to leave.

"One second, please, Harry. I promise to be completely honest." Harry turned toward him. "Yes. My job is to manipulate. However, it is not to manipulate you into thinking you are better, but rather, manipulating you to speak to me, and then, perhaps, to help open your mind to alternatives. You don't have to live how you do right now. You don't have to be so sad that it physically hurts. You don't have to be exhausted by your emotions and your thoughts. You don't have to be anxious and scared. You don't have to hide." Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dr. Miller cut him off. "Hold on. Full disclosure. I'm not just a well-meaning man with a degree nor am I a man who just wants to get paid for an hour of talking. I'm a man who has been exactly where you are and who somehow managed to get out of that hole. I'm not supposed to talk about myself and I'm not supposed to tell you how to feel, but you are stubborn, Harry, so you are forcing me to be as well. You feel helpless. You feel unfixable. Well, fine. Maybe you are. But maybe you aren't, and if there is any possibility that you could one day feel even an ounce better, then don't you think that playing chess twice a week with me is worth it? I promise to go easy on you."

Dr. Miller smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, and it was obvious how important this was to him. Was it important to Harry? Did he care enough about himself anymore? But feeling better…he'd do anything if he could feel better.

"Alright. But today, I'm leaving early."

"Fair enough." Dr. Miller stood and shook Harry's hand. "I'll see you on Thursday at the same time?"

"Uhm…what's today?" Would he even be able to come back? Did he have the strength?

"It's Monday, Harry."

"Right. Ok, thanks. See you Thursday."

Harry turned to leave, unsure of what he had just agreed to.


	2. Draco Malfoy and his Patients

Draco closed the door behind Harry Potter and allowed himself to relax at last. He sighed, tiredly, removed his glamour, and walked back into his office where he could go over Harry's paperwork and write notes about their session.

It had been an odd first session. Usually, he asked the client about their life, their feelings, their family, etc. But Harry Potter had not come in of his own volition… Draco had already broken one rule. There was also the issue that he knew Harry personally, that they had been childhood rivals who despised each other. He wasn't supposed to treat people he knew… though he had broken that rule before. He was the only therapist who also happened to be a wizard with experience in the war against Voldemort. This made him special, in a way, and he felt it was his duty to help survivors. But treating Harry Potter was something more altogether. He knew he was venturing into an ethically grey area. Yet, if he didn't help Harry, who would?

Draco finished writing his notes and filed them away in the bottom drawer of his desk. Then he opened the top drawer, took out a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey, and poured himself a drink.

It would all be fine. All he had to do was remain objective, or, at least, as objective as any therapist could be with any of their clients.

* * *

The alarm blared at 6AM, and Draco promptly shut it off before going through his morning routine. He had learned a long time ago that routines were his friend. He showered, got dressed, ate the breakfast his house elves had prepared for him, read the Daily Prophet, made calls, checked up on his various investments, and was in his office by 9AM, half an hour before his first appointment of the day.

"Good morning, Dr. Miller. I wrote down your messages and left them on your desk."

"Thank you, Ms. Diggins."

Bells Diggins had been Draco's receptionist for almost two years now. She had a short blond bob, cat-eye glasses, and an uncanny ability to keep Draco's affairs organized, despite being unable to do the same for herself.

"Oh, and your mother called. She said I couldn't write down her message and that I had to tell you personally."

Draco frowned. Why was his mother using muggle means of communication? And why didn't she simply knock on his bedroom door? They both lived in the Manor, after all.

"Please write it down for me, and send it to my office via paper plane."

"Yes, doctor."

Draco went to his office, took out his notes for his next patient, and refreshed his memory.

Ah, yes. Mr. M, a high-profile wizard who always wore a different glamour when he came to see Draco. The blond rolled his eyes. It didn't matter. His gait, posture, height, and manner of speaking all told Draco that it was Seamus Finnigan, a Hogwarts alum and Gryffindor through and through. As far as Draco was concerned, Finnigan no longer needed therapy, but the man insisted on coming once a month to chat. It was obvious that he considered Draco to be a friend and didn't want to give that up, even if it meant having to pay for a session every now and then. Draco had often explained to the man why they could not be friends, and why they needed to maintain a professional relationship, but Finnigan continued to show up every month with a bottle of expensive rum that the blond was ethically obligated to turn down.

A paper airplane slid under his office door. Draco waved his wand, and the paper unfolded itself and landed on his desk.

_Draco, I've instructed your assistant to tell this to you directly because it is of a sensitive nature. I have found a few items of your great uncle's in the attic, stowed away behind a rather large ottoman. I won't be home for a few days so that you can deal with the situation on your own. Stay out of trouble._

_Mother_

Lovely. That could only mean that dark artifacts were found. He no longer had any connections in the Auror department, so how on earth would he get rid of these items both safely and discretely?

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in." Ms. Diggins walked in with Mr. M, who smiled brightly before sitting down in an armchair that he must have considered to be his own by now. "Thank you, Ms. Diggins."

He vanished the note Diggins had written and moved to sit across from Mr. M.

"'Ello, Doctor. I 'ave great news today."

Draco smiled. Finnigan might get annoying, but it still pleased him to see his clients happy.

"Do tell, Mr. M."

"Dean proposed. We're gettin' married in jus' three months." The man grinned from ear to ear as he told the news. "We're movin' 'round 'ere, too, so if you ever want, you can stop over fer dinner."

Draco frowned this time.

"M, please. You know that it would ruin our therapist/client relationship if-"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm firin' ya. Ye've said it yerself, I'm fine. If I need therapy in the future, I'll find someone else." Finnigan removed his glamour. "See? It's all out in the open. I'm Seamus Finnigan. Nice to meet ya, Dr. Miller. Now, will ya please come ta my weddin' that is only possible because you someone managed to help me figger out which way was up again?"

The blond couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright. But I must keep my glamour, and I won't be stopping by for dinner in the future."

"But ye'll come ta my weddin'."

"If I'm officially fired, then yes. I'd love to be there."

Finnigan somehow managed to grin even wider than before.

"Fantastic! Bring Ms. Diggins too. I wouldn't want ya ta be bored."

"That's very kind of you. I will do just that."

The two men spent the rest of the hour discussing ideas for Finnigan's honeymoon, and once their time was up, Draco refused to accept payment. After all, his most improved patient had fired him at last. How could he charge the man for that?

His next patient was young woman who had very recently graduated from Hogwarts. Her name was Cassandra Gil Osle, and she was of Spanish decent. She suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder which often made her depressed, anxious, and resulted in her impulsive cutting. Draco liked her, but worried constantly about her lack of support system.

"Hello Cassi."

"Hi."

Cassi sat down, her red hair pulled up in a messy bun. She seemed to not have put much effort in her appearance which usually meant that she wasn't doing very well.

"How are you?"

"I really hate that question." Cassi smiled and rolled her eyes. "I feel like I'm supposed to say that I'm fine all the time, but I don't really know how I am."

"Oh, please." Draco had been seeing Cassi for two years and knew her well enough to know that if she tried, she could be present and describe her feelings.

She smiled again.

"Uhm. I don't know. I'm all over the place I guess. The past two weeks have been insane. It's been like there's a hurricane happening in my head. Plus so much has happened that I just don't know what to feel. Uhm... But right now I feel anxious. And a little annoyed because I really hate that question." She crinkled her nose as him and he couldn't help but smile.

"That's good. Good."

"Yeah. It's been insane. I've had all these problems with my family, but then they were nice again, and now I'm getting a dog and I haven't applied to any jobs, so I feel like a terrible person. And I don't know. It's been a lot. I don't know."

"So not applying to a job makes you a terrible person?"

She sighed.

"Well, rationally, obviously not. But I feel like it does, even though I technically know that it doesn't. But I still feel it. Are you going to give me the therapist speech about feelings and how you have to accept them, but keep in mind that they aren't reality and blah blah...?"

Cassi was a bright young woman and liked reading about Psychology. That, plus her two years of seeing him, made her come up with quite a bit of assumptions, but they were often right.

"In a way. But I also asked so we could discuss it further. This feeling that you have that you are a terrible person, it doesn't only come up from not applying for a job."

"Well. Not exactly a terrible person, but like…stupid. I'm stupid."

"That's interesting. I've always found you rather intelligent and capable."

"Then why do I do all this? Oh, right. Because I'm depressed." She sunk back in her chair and looked at the clock. That was her anxiety showing. She tended to worry about the session ending before she could talk about everything that she wanted to discuss.

"Yes. Exactly. The depressed brain tries to make sense of its own depression and that's why you get these thoughts of inadequacy when you are in fact, smart and capable. And, fundamentally Ok."

"What does that mean? Fundamentally ok?"

"Well, in the grand scheme of things you are ok. You finished Hogwarts with good marks, you have a boyfriend, friends, etc. You are doing ok."

"I don't feel ok."

Draco frowned.

"I know you don't. And that's what we need to work on. How to get you to accept your okayness. Does the make sense?" She nodded and then gave a small laugh, this time crinkling her nose without realizing it. "What?"

"You moved that painting on the wall to where I suggested. I like that."

He gave her a soft smile. He felt a great fondness for Cassi, and her happiness, no matter how small, never failed to warm him.

During the rest of the session they discussed aspects of Cassi's disorder and general problems. He suggested that she not just get any dog, but rather a puppy. Various studies had shown that dogs help with anxiety and depression, and he suspected that one so young and helpless might also help with her low self-worth. If she could take care of another living thing and see how greatly it needed her, then maybe she could start to feel better about herself. It could backfire, but the benefits outweighed the risks.

"I can't pay you today, Dr. Miller. I forgot my money at home."

"It's fine. I'll see you next week. And remember, you aren't crazy or stupid."

Cassi smirked and said goodbye before stepping out the door. She seemed unconvinced, but Draco knew her well. She'd reflect over their meeting and aspects of it would begin to sink in.

He saw a few other patients, and then his day was done. He was free to organize his notes, his desk, and then wonder if the famous Harry Potter would actually show up for their meeting the next day. He sighed and put that thought aside. First he needed to go home and deal with the dark artifacts in his attic. No matter what he did, his past always found him.


	3. Harry Potter and his Episode

The fridge was completely empty. There was not even an old milk jug or spoiled cheese. His phone didn't work because he has forgotten to pay the bill, and he lived too far from any wizarding establishments that delivered food. If Harry wanted to eat, he was going to have to leave the house. He supposed he wouldn't die if he missed a day's worth of meals. Even as his stomach grumbled in protest, the savior of the Wizarding World dragged his feet back to his room and sunk into bed, ignoring the foul smell of his sheets or the sweat stains on his pillow. He covered himself with a plush blanket that had been spelled to never lose its texture, and was asleep within minutes despite having woken from a five hour nap only 30 minutes prior.

* * *

At 6:30pm, a blaring noise woke Harry and suddenly he was back at Hogwarts with flashes of light flying around him and his friends falling one by one. Voldemort appeared in front of him, cackling, and Harry raised his wand at the imposing figure. He yelled out "Sectumsempra!", too terrified to simply disarm the Dark Lord. He was reward by a sharp stab of pain on his left cheek, which only sent him farther down into desperate terror. Now Voldemort was standing above him, so Harry grabbed his wand, but fear paralyzed him. He couldn't think of anything. What spell? What spell? Voldemort raised his wand and began to yell "AVADA". Harry shrieked and threw up a shield, knowing that it would not stop the spell, but unable to think of anything else. As he cast the spell, his wand went flying out of his hand so he raised his arms above him in a futile effort to protect himself. All he could do now was cower and scream until death finally came for him. But death did not come, and slowly, through his screams, he began to hear less and less of the commotion around him until the only thing he could hear was his own wailing.

"Harry…"

He looked up, terrified, but the only person in front of him was Ron Weasley.

"Did you see him?!"

Ron looked at his feet as his ears burned red.

"…I didn't see anything, Harry."

"But Voldemort! He cut me! He-" Harry looked to his mirror to the left of Ron to check his cut, only to see that the mirror was shattered. "I… Wha…"

"You broke that mirror Harry. I came to see if you were going to go to therapy. Hermione set up an alarm with your wand, but she wanted me to make sure that you wouldn't sleep through it. I got here a few minutes before it sounded and when it did, you started screaming bloody murder. When I came into the room, you attacked the mirror."

Harry was silent. He had had dreams before from which he awoke to find his room in shambles, but never had this happen while he was awake. He couldn't even look at Ron anymore. In fact, he wished he could hide deep beneath the earth until he grew old enough to die. Ron sighed, seemingly tired, and helped Harry out of bed before leading him to the floo. Harry stepped in, called out the appropriate words, and stepped out into Dr. Miller's waiting room at 6:55, surprised to see that the Doctor was already waiting for him.

The man was dirty blond this time, with dark black eyes and a hooked nose. He wore the same glasses as last time, and unassuming khaki pants with a button-down shirt. If it weren't for the glimmer of his glamour, Harry would have thought the man to be a muggle who had gotten lost while about his day.

"Hello, Harry. I'm glad that you were able to make it today. Shall we go to my office?"

Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing a dirty tank top and sweats underneath a questionably-coloured bathrobe. However, he followed the man, too afraid to go back home in case Ron was still there. He didn't feel that he could face his friend after what had just happened.

Dr. Miller sat down and brought out a chess board.

"How are you, Harry?"

Harry grimaced and sat down. He looked at the therapist bitterly and could feel his disdain from their first meeting returning to him.

"I'm wearing a bathrobe."

"I see that. Is that something you would like to discuss?"

Harry grabbed a chess piece and almost slammed it down onto its new position on the board.

"Don't talk to me like that."

Dr. Miller smiled so faintly and so quickly, that it was a wonder that Harry was able to see it at all.

"Why are you dressed like a slob, Harry? You look like a dragon's balls."

This time it was Harry's turn to smile.

"I haven't changed since I last saw you, that's why. Because, apparently, I'm crazy. Now go ahead. Fix me."

Dr. Miller moved a piece on the board, and Harry quickly moved one of his own in response.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Harry furrowed his brow.

"You said that I wasn't unfixable."

"What I mean is that I can't wave my wand and make it all better. If that were possible, then I'm positive that a man of your considerable talents would be able to learn the spell and fix yourself." The therapist moved another piece and again, Harry quickly responded. "You are sweaty. Would you like to talk about that?"

"No."

"Have you played chess with Ron?"

"No."

"Would you like to leave?"

"No."

At this, Dr. Miller raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And why is that? Surely it's not this game of chess. I'll have you beat in four more moves." Harry scoffed and began to reset the pieces. Miller helped. Once they were finished and Dr. Miller had moved the first piece, he spoke again. "If you refuse to talk, I'm afraid that I will not be able to help you."

Harry sighed laboriously and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the game.

"I had an... episode." He waited, but Dr. Miller said nothing. "I was startled by an alarm and I…" He did not want to mention that he had seem Voldemort. He didn't want to be shipped off to the mental ward at St. Mungo's. "I, uh, thought there was an intruder, but it was just my reflection in the mirror. I shot a spell at it and a piece of glass cut me." He stopped talking and waited for Dr. Miller to comment, but the man said nothing. He simply looked at Harry. "Er… and I guess I'm sweaty from sleeping too much?"

This time Dr. Miller responded.

"You are sweaty from sleeping too much?"

"Yeah."

"I know that you are a better liar than that."

Harry was taken aback.

"What? Why would you know that?"

Dr. Miller leaned back into his chair, mirroring Harry's position, and cleared his throat before answering.

"I've read about you in the paper, as everyone has, and how you deceived many to win the war. You were able to get into Gringotts."

"Oh. Well, I didn't lie to do that. I just said that for the press. You can't say anything that I say in here, right?"

"That's correct, Harry."

He paused before continuing with the truth about his Gringotts story. Dr. Miller crossed his legs in a way that Harry could only describe as poised. It was a strange thing to think of a man. All the men he knew were like him…then again, he was an Auror. Their finesse came with casting spells, not with sitting.

"I cast an Imperius curse. And you can't have me arrested for that. The minister already knows."

Dr. Miller chuckled.

"I wouldn't dream of trying to arrest you, Harry. After all, what Auror in their right mind would agree to a request like that? The man who brings you in for questioning would be risking his career and reputation."

Harry leaned forward again, calm now, and moved his knight carefully.

"You know I've never liked the attention or the treatment that I get. I'm not special and I'm definitely not perfect."

"No man is infallible, Harry, not even you. But sadly, you are special. It might simply be because of that scar on your forehead and because of the attentions of a now-dead madman, but you are special. You bring hope into millions of lives by simply existing."

"I don't want that!" Harry stood up briskly. "I don't want to play anymore."

Dr. Miller frowned, but stood up as well.

"Would you like to go home? We still have forty minutes left, but-"

"I- No. No, I don't want to go home. But I don't want to be in this stupid room. It's too posh. Everything here is too posh."

"Why don't you want to go home?"

Harry walked to Dr. Miller's desk and sat down in his desk chair before standing up again and leaning against the door.

"I just don't."

"Are you not going home at all tonight?"

"I'll go when it's time to go."

"Alright." Dr. Miller sat down again and moved a chess piece. "Would you like to play in silence for a while?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, but soon moved to continue playing. Within five minutes, he had lost, and his therapist was setting up the board once again.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Mille-"

"No. Who are you underneath the glamour? I'm spilling my guts to someone that I don't even know."

"You aren't spilling anything, Harry. In fact, you are making my job horribly difficult. You won't even tell me about the episode you had and that you are afraid to go home because you are either afraid to confront something that you did, or because there is someone waiting there that you do not want to see. As I've said before, I can't help you if you don't talk. All that I can do is speculate."

Harry gaped. He hasn't been so surprised in a very long time. In fact, he hadn't felt much of anything but sadness and fear and emptiness in a very long time.

"How…" Dr. Miller didn't say anything. He simply looked into his eyes. "How did you know about... er...?"

"Harry… I told you that I'm not just a well-meaning man with a degree. I've been through what you are experiencing. I've experienced the fear I saw in your eyes when you came out of the floo today…and the shame. Nobody becomes that afraid by simply being startled awake unless, of course, they see something more. And with your war background and your more than traumatic past, it would not be surprising to find out that you were having flashbacks, nightmares, and confusing inanimate objects, such as mirrors, with dangerous foes. You attacked something that for you, in that moment, was very real. That's how you got hurt. Unfortunately, you won't tell me exactly what happened, and I can't help if I only have my speculations. I want to help you, Harry. I want you to feel better, even if it's only a little for now. But more than all of that, I want you to have someone in your life that understands that what you are experiencing is normal."

Harry took in a deep breath, overwhelmed. He moved a chess piece, and Dr. Miller moved one of his own. They continued like that in silence until a large clock on the wall played a soothing melody and Harry noticed their time was up. He looked up at Dr. Miller, but the man simply took Harry's king and then began to set up the board once again.

Somehow, this made Harry feel warm inside.

The two men played late into the night, until Harry finally told Dr. Miller everything he had seen. He told him about Voldemort, about his friends falling around him, about the fear he had felt… and then he told him about Ron and the shame that he still couldn't shake.

"If I had struck him with that spell…"

"But you didn't." Harry said nothing. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to put up wards against your friends for the time being. It doesn't seem like their sudden intrusions are helping you much."

Harry agreed, but he still didn't want to leave. He looked up at the clock and saw that it was past midnight.

"I don't suppose you have such long meetings with all your clients?"

He expected Dr. Miller to smile, but the man showed no emotion in response to his comment. Harry coughed awkwardly, but still could not force himself to get up and leave. He had not felt so awake in weeks and the thought of going back home filled him with dread and anxiety.

"Why are you still here, Harry?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

Harry looked into the man's eyes and wondered why he continued to lie to him. So far, he had felt the best when he had been honest.

"I'm afraid to go home. I feel better right now, and I don't want to go back to dirty sheets and an empty fridge."

Dr. Miller's face softened.

"Is there any place where you might feel comfortable? Perhaps somewhere that is not quite so posh as this?" Dr. Miller smirked and Harry felt himself roll his eyes.

"No. I'm afraid not. But I can go home. It's late."

"I'm sorry, Harry. We've already crossed a bit of a professional line by staying here so late. I should treat all my patients equally." _Then why did you give me so much extra time,_ Harry wondered, but he did not dare ask. He sensed that his therapist would not welcome that question, and he did not want to sour the relationship he seemed to be building with the man, no matter how one-sided and artificial it may be. Harry was starting to realize that he needed this one-sided friendship…or rather, professional partnership. "However, I'm afraid that if you go home now, it will only hurt you in the long run. I know of a place where my clients stay. I have a contract with them so that I always have a room available. Go to the Red Dragon Hotel and tell them that Dr. Miller sent you and that if they have any questions, to call me. Please stay there tonight, have a bath, buy some clothes in the early morning while there are few people out and-"

Harry was feeling more and more overwhelmed as the doctor spoke. Shopping? Going outside? Waking up early?

"I… I-"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I forgot myself. Go to the hotel and enjoy yourself as you see fit. I will see you on Monday."

"Tomorrow."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Tomorrow. Same time."

Harry smiled softly and went off to The Red Dragon Hotel. Perhaps he would take a bath after all.


End file.
